I
was born… not by the river,
But by the lake shore near the Chi.
Forty-four minutes from the Loop,
Beneath a thick, smoke-stained sky.
In the land where I was raised,
Some called it a Chocolate City.
With the country’s first Black mayor in tow,
White flight inspired us to no pity.
Nearly all the leaders were Black.
Had my first White teacher in high school.
So Black history wasn’t just a month—
The elders’ wisdom was our rule.
Back where I come from,
Established in late nineteen sixty-five,
A Cat would say, “Hey, let me rap to you,”
After the knowledge, you knew he’d jive.
But we didn’t get our feelings hurt
Because we knew it was all love.
That same Cat playin’ the dozens on you
Would lift you up—push come to shove.
Yeah, them Gangsta Roos were truly hard,
But they scattered when they saw my dad.
They might beat down the Disciples in the alley,
But there was respect in the street codes they had.
The last of thirteen born in the fam.
A baby boy conformed to a mold.
So many to follow in that crowded line,
I quietly just did what I was told.
Daddy never stuttered his expectations.
His orders? Harsh and cold.
Cold like the sub-zero January nights
When I was sent out to shovel snow.
Cold like the time he told me:
“When I want your opinion, I’ll let you know.”
So I could always relate to my homeboys,
Raised to be stars in the house of Joe.
“Man up”—no time for Who’s Loving You?
Can’t Blame It on the Boogie—just put on the show.
My neighbors were a strong blend—
Blue- and white-collar Black folks.
Mama had me passin’ out flyers
To make sure they got out to vote.
Cops lived right there in our neighborhood.
No worries about their brutality.
We had no reason to be afraid
Of protection and service with humanity.
And if I clowned out in the streets,
The elders knew to step in.
They all knew Mama well enough
To exact the proper discipline.
Though I was raised in that Chocolate City,
It taught me more than pride of skin.
A light-skinned boy among these folks,
Who helped me learn to see the soul within—
And appreciate GOD’s image in every face,
From mills and boardrooms to pews and schools.
All searching for meaning on this planet,
And striving to make use of life’s tools.
Grateful for the hue I carry,
Still aware of where I stand.
Not called to war for melanin—
But to sow love into every man.
Where I’m from—in Indiana—
The people prospered making steel.
But those who fled had deeper plans
To undercut our thriving deal.
Automate and terminate—
Robots in, our labor out.
Rescind the state funding,
Tax the poor—no doubt.
Flood the streets with mind-alterers,
Push fear and hand out guns,
Corrupt the corruptible leaders,
And murder the good ones.
Slowly, the cracks widened.
No help from the state or the feds.
We turned to programs that promised relief—
But they told us to, “Wait instead.”
And we waited… two score and ten.
Meanwhile, I joined the Navy.
Figured this young man could see the world,
Find my purpose—be all I could be.
Recently, I went “Back to Indiana!”
Blight now replaced with trees.
Public schools closed or gone—
And I could hear faint ghostly pleas:
“Rosewood. Greenwood. Oscarville…”
They hate to see us prosper.
“Bruce’s Beach. Mound Bayou. Central Park…”
To them, our success seems improper.
Where I’m from is Gary, Indiana—
Where legends were formed in the ladle brew,
Ignited and tested, in Steel City pride—
Shout out to my Cougars and them Panthers too.
Like limestone cut from Hoosier quarries
That becomes America’s building stone,
Gary spit us out to beautify the world
And to make GOD’s greatness known.
An environment that prepared us to lead
And made the impossible true.
It’s the place that shaped the man I am—
And set the stage for all I’m purposed to do.